


Burden to Bare

by theparanoidwriter



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Death, happy birthday jean, reversal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparanoidwriter/pseuds/theparanoidwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>:D<br/>Happy birthday Jean!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden to Bare

“You know, I've been seeing several of the boys and girls returning home recently. Didn't the Braus' daughter return home?” Mrs. Kirschtein took a sip of tea from her cup, holding it on the saucer in her hands.

“Yes, but the Wagners' son didn't. It's been quite some time since his last letter. What if-”

“Nonsense! Our son is a smart, tough boy! He's just busy, I'm sure of it. Any moment he'll knock on that door and prove you wro-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Mr. Kirschtein swapped glances with his wife, every bit as surprised by the timing.

“That's him, just you watch!” She placed her tea cup down then answered the door. “Jean, you-”

Her son wasn't standing in the doorway. Instead, there was a much taller male in uniform, hands behind his back. “Are you Mrs. Kirschtein?”

What was this boy doing here? A boy certainly was what he was, he couldn't be a day over 18, not much older than Jean. “Yes, that's me.” She paused a moment then asked, “Not that you're unwelcome, but have you seen my so-”

The male brought his hands out from behind his back, and presented what he held to Mrs. Kirschtein. In his hands, he held a tattered jacket, folded to display the name stitched across it: Kirschtein. He couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Mrs. Kirschtein stiffened visibly, only turning to wave her husband over. When he joined her, she choked out, “Please, come in.”

Marco took a few steps into what he took to be the kitchen. It was an open style layout that was light and airy, festive in the array of colors and house plants in full bloom. The room was meant to exude comfort and liveliness , but it held the opposite effect on Marco. He felt wrong, dirty, soiling the room and this family with the terrible news that was his burden to bare. 

Mrs. Kirschtein dropped down into her chair and clutched her tea cup in both hands; she brought it to her lips and sipped. Her husband stepped behind her, one hand rested on her shoulder. His hand stayed there even as she steadied herself, tears fighting for release in the corners of her eyes. “Do you know..” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “how he died?”  
He averted his gaze to the flower print tablecloth and took a deep breath. He had had the entire week's travel to prepare himself for this moment. He had planned exactly how he would tell the Kirschteins, how he would look this woman, Jean's mother, and tell her that her son was dead. 17 years old and dead. His eyes caught the calendar, April 7th. Correction: he had to tell Mrs. Kirsctein that her son was dead on what would have been his 18th birthday. He looked at her again, his voice soft, “Nobody knows exactly how he died, but we found his body slumped against a building , the right side covered in burns. He was separated from the rest of his squad and nobody was around to see, I'm sorry.” 

The words felt heavy and couldn't leave his mouth quick enough, the bitter taste lingering behind. He tensed, anticipating the tears that had yet fallen but threatened to with each second.

“Were you in his squad?”

He blinked twice. That was unexpected. “No, I was in a different squad, but we were nearby.”

Silence.

He wished that he could give her something, anything, to help lighten her spirits. “He would have made a great leader, “ the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, “It was a great honor and pleasure knowing your son for the past 4 years.”

She caught on his words, and placed her tea cup down before she took a sip. “So you knew Jean? Were you two..?”

Marco jumped forward in his seat, hands splayed before him, waving frantically. “No, no! Nothing like that.” Heat flooded his face as he tried to explain, “We were bunkmates and good friends, is all! Nothing like that. I assure you Jean was popular with the ladies. Always the ladies man!”

The last bit he grudgingly stated.   
Jean Kirschtein was as straight as they came and all the trainees knew that he a crush on Mikasa Ackerman. Who could blame him? She had beautiful dark hair, a nice smile when she showed it, her eyes and face were striking- he'd probably crush on her too, if he wasn't gay.

There were lots of other boys amongst the trainees, and he could have fallen in love with any of them, but instead his heart had decided to play the cruelest joke on him. He had fallen in love with two-toned hair mussed in the worst and cutest bedhead ever. He had fallen in love with a dorky smile that looked much better than the wide grin he flashed trying to impress others. He had fallen in love with the boy who mimicked confidence amongst others, but inside questioned it. He had fallen in love with his best friend. 

He, Marco Bodt, had fallen in love with Jean Kirschtein.

“Jean-” Mrs. Kirschtein's words were cut off by the sound of several pairs of feet thundering down the stairs. They made their way to the floor then slapped against the tile as they rushed into the kitchen.

There were four of them, the youngest of them around six, the oldest around fifteen and each of them reminded him a little of Jean, especially the oldest whose grin was identical.

“Hey loser” was joined by an enthusiastic chorus of “Jean!” , “big brother!” and “you're home!” They all wore bright smiles that quickly quirked down when they saw a stranger standing in the kitchen and not their older brother.

“You're not Jean!” One of the girls scowled, hands on her hips, two toned hair tousled just like Jean's when he woke up, askew just slightly to the left.

The eldest raised an eyebrow. “Hey, where's Jean?”

One of the younger boys shouted, “yeah! Where ith he? He promithed me that he would teath me how to ride a bike. And he hath to see my toof! “

This wasn't part of his job. He was just supposed to tell Mr. and Mrs. Kirschtein. Jean's siblings were supposed to be in school right now and he'd never expected them to resemble him so much. He felt the air in the room lessen with the children pressing him despite their father's calls for them to quiet down.

He couldn't tell them their older brother was dead. That he had been unable to save him. That he couldn't even tell them HOW Jean had died.

Something tugged his pant leg. He looked down into big, round amver eyes almost too big for the soft face they rested on.

“Where Jean?”

An innocent face. The six-year-old wanted to see his brother. They all did and as much as he wanted to give them that, to give himself that – it was impossible.

“Jean, he..” the words rose up like bile but they stuck in his throat and burned. His hand flew to his throat and pressed hard against it to soothe the fiery feeling.

The six-year-old tugged on his pant leg again, his eyes never leaving Marco, waiting for an answer.

Dead. Not here. Say one of them. Any of them. Say something.

Mr. Kirschtein chided his children and told them to head upstairs, that they would talk later, but they stayed there. Four pairs of eyes focused on him.

Marco tore his gaze from them and looked over at Mrs. Kirschtein who sat and studied him. 

“Where's Jean?”

It was his voice this time, after that battle had ended. Nobody had seen him since had run off. The second day of cleanup and there was still no sign of him anywhere.

Connie and Sasha had shaken theirs head.

Connie had rested his hand on Marco's shoulder. “Look, he's probably just busy cleaning up somewhere else. This is a big city.”

“I'm sure he'll find you after everything done. You two always do!” Sasha had chipped in.

He had put on a smile for them and hoped they were right. He reminded himself of all the times they had found each other in training, how Jean had managed to find him and save him just in time. He had been thankful for the lack of corpses on his way because his mind kept repeating: Any one of these could be Jean.

They can't. They won't be. Jean isn't dead. He's perfectly alive and after all this, he'll find me, or I'll find him and he'll laugh at my panic. He'll laugh and I'll scold him, but it'll be good and I'll hug that idiot and feel his warm body next to mine and not his cold, undead-

He had stopped in midstep, seeing but not seeing the body before him.

“Jean...is that you?”

No. It wasn't Jean. Jean was alive. He was in cleanup. He was - 

“Do you know him?”

He had turned and saw an older lady, mask on and a clipboard in her hands. She held a clipboard in her hands. When Marco didn't respond, she had prompted again, “You don't have time to grieve your friend right now. Do you know his name?”

That was right. There had been no time for grieving then, nor was there time as the bodies burned, nor was there time the entire trip here. But now...

Marco faltered in his step and was surprised to find Mrs. Kirschtein's arms wrapped around him as tears spilled from his eyes after being held back for all this time. Her embrace felt warm and he let himself fall into it, his tears soaking her shoulder as she rubbed circles on his back.

She let him cry for several minutes before asking,“You're him, aren't you? Marco Bodt?” 

He stiffened. How does she know my name? He pulled back to look at her, wiping his eyes. “Y-yes, that's me.” When she didn't clarify right away, he asked, “How do you know my name?”

She smiled and took his face in her hands to study him again before she nodded. “Yes, it definitely is you.”

Marco looked on in confusion. “Ma'am?”

She pulled away and walked over to a folder on a nearby dresser. She leafed through it and spoke over her shoulder. “I was wondering when I would meet the boy that my son had fallen in love with. I hadn't imagined it would be in this way, but...”

Marco had ceased hearing after the phrase “fallen in love with”. “You must be mistaken, Jean-”

“Loved Mikasa Ackerman? Beautiful dark hair? A lovely smile?”

How did she know?

“Jean wrote letters home and he tried to convince me that he loved this Mikasa girl, but even in his writing, I could tell he loved somebody else.” She shuffled through the folder, still searching for something. She found it at last and brought a bundle of folded papers held together with a rubber band over to Marco.

He looked down at the bundle and noted the address and Mrs. Kirschtein's name. “Ma'am, I can't read-”

She shoved the bundle into his hands. “Go on, read them.” He gave her a distressed look and she added, “I'm sharing them with you. It's fine.”  
Marco relented, partially due to his curiosity but also to show Mrs. Kirschtein that it was all a big misunderstanding. He opened the first letter and took a moment to calm himself when he saw Jean's writing scrawled across the page.

Dear Mom,

Alright, you caught me. I think, I can tell you the truth. 

I don't like Mikasa Ackerman.

I wish I could.

But I don't.

I like this guy. He's great. He's really helpful and he's always there for everyone. He has this laugh. It's like...I know you're going to laugh at this Mom, but his laugh, it's like angels ringing heaven's bells. He has these brown? Eyes. They're great. And freckles. Man has he got a lot of freckles. 

Don't tell Jacques, or Jeanette, or any of them, or even Dad but...I don't know how many nights of sleep I lost staring at them all. Or, well, Marco.

It's hard not to. Especially when we share the bunk because Marco doesn't like being alone in the dark. And I complain and tell him he needs to get over his fear of the dark, but I don't mean it. Because lying there with Marco feels like home. 

Not that I don't think you guys aren't home! It's just...a different kind of home. Like my own special home.

And I poke fun at his fear, and he doesn't yell at me or like me any less for it. He puts up with my crap and he's really great. I know he's gay, but there's no way he could like me. I've seen the way Thomas follows him. Or Nic, or Connie, or I don't know. Anybody but me. Somebody who doesn't treat him like I do.

I wish I didn't, but I'm in love with Marco Bodt.

Your Son,

Jean  
\----------------------------------------

Dear Mom,

He's too much. He sensed something was wrong, like he always does. And he knew just the right words to say. He always knows just what to say.

 

\---------------------------------------

Marco stopped reading; it was too much. He looked up, his hands shaking. 

Mrs. Kirschtein stood there, smiling at him, tears ready to fall. “There's so much more. He wrote such beautiful things about you all the time.” Her voice broke on the last word and this time, he found his arms moving on their own to embrace her as she let her tears fall. He held her tight and thought of Jean's words.

He always knows just what to say.

But that wasn't true. He should have told Jean that he loved him while he still had a chance, but he hadn't and that was his burden to bare.


End file.
